


Butterkuchen

by Trill



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Blogging, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trill/pseuds/Trill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt runs Shatter, a restaurant that's failing, fast. Hermann works for his father's company as an actuary, assessing risk before they make an investment- and he runs a pastry blog in his spare time. Things don't go precisely to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterkuchen

He leaned forward, carefully moving the icing bag over the top of the salted caramel dessert. The icing was designed to dry hard and crunchy, the perfect offset to the moist, crumbling cake. He appraised the display- the cake up on the antique silver cake stand his grandmother had given him, the edges slightly tarnished. It suited his kitchen, the gray subway tiles and stark gray granite counter tops offsetting his dark wooden cabinets. He moved the bowl he hasn't washed yet next to the cake, and lay the mostly-empty icing bag beside it before picking up his camera, and framing the shot.

Perfect. Though he knew he'd gotten the shot he first time, he takes a few more to be sure, trying different angles and adjusting the settings on his camera to try and capture the light as well as the detail on the cake. Satisfied, he leaned back against the kitchen's island, right hand finding where he'd left his cane. He'd write up the entry tonight, and post the blog in the morning before work.

Hermann Gottlieb- or, as he was known on his blog, Euchlid - had an audience to satisfy, after all. As of last month statistics, six hundred thousand of them. He'd introduced advertising, just to cover the costs of the bandwidth. He took a moment to admire his work, and then set to doing the dishes. He'd let his neighbor, Vanessa, bring the cake to her office in the morning.

He lived a rather boring life, one he had built for himself. He'd graduated college with a degree in mathematics, and had considered perusing a masters or even a PhD in the field. He loved academia, but he also enjoyed baking for his dorm mates. Late nights spent in the dilapidated kitchen they all shared, churning out fresh bread and whipped compound butter, icing cupcakes at two am- he always worked better with the smell of baking nearby- But in his senior year, the accident had happened, and his happiness was interrupted.

He'd missed a whole semester, undergoing surgeries and physical therapy and when he couldn't regain full function, how to use a cane properly. He had to get used to the stares, the mutterings, the fact he could no longer stand for any length of time without his hip protesting. Pastry school, a dream he'd just begun to explore, was no longer an option. Academia, with all of its standing in front of a classroom, all those students staring at him- it made his stomach clench and his heart drop. And so his father had planned for him to join the family's investment firm. It perhaps wasn't the choice he wished to make for himself, but it promised a steady career with good money and- well, he couldn't see himself standing in front of a class room, not after the accident. And he knew, as all men who deal in numbers do, that a sure thing was the better deal-

So he'd taken his father's offer, and begun working in a small office that overlooked the city. He enjoyed his work, going through the accounts of the businesses they invested in, finding discrepancies and oddities in their financial records. He sat with business owners, calculated risks, advised his father so he could speak to the investors. It was, perhaps, a boring existence that made him few friends, but it was one his... limitations allowed for.

He just didn't realize that some of those limitations were self-imposed.

* * *

Newt groaned into his pillow, clinging to it as he tried to burrow back under the blankets that had been heartlessly stripped from him. He'd been at the restaurant until four in the morning, going over the books with his front of house- who was currently cruelly taking his comforter.

“Unannounced,” Newton Geiszler, James Beard award winner, owner of one of the most avant garde restaurants in the city and chef extraordinaire was not a morning person. He wasn't even really an evening person.

Tendo sometimes joked that he wasn't a person at all.

“C'mon, brother. We got a meeting to get to, and I know you still need to make yourself presentable.” Tendo stood over him, looking resplendent in a charcoal gray suit. The only indication to his personal style were the bright red suspenders Newt could glimpse from his bed, and the cheery bow tie, which, as always, was tied perfectly.

“Dunwanna,” He rolled over, trying to bury his face in a pillow, “You go.”

“It's your restaurant, and your staff out on the street if you go under,” Tendo said, the argument old and sharp as acid in the early morning air.

“Well, when you put it that way...” He groaned, and executed a perfect roll to the floor, “Fifteen minutes?”

“Five. I'll make the coffee.” The door clicked shut as Tendo headed to the small kitchenette in the corner of the apartment's main room.

Newt lay in his quilts another moment, drawing strength by staring at his ceiling. It had a few glow-in-the-dark stars speckled across it, re-creations of constellations he'd stuck up the day he'd moved in. His boyfriend at the time had considered it evidence of his childishness, but Newt loved them.

He'd had the apartment nearly four years, and most of the stars had fallen down or faded. Tendo had moved in a few months ago to help with the rent, taking the small guest bedroom on the other side of the living room. The restaurant had started out to some good reviews, great ones, praising the young chef and his vision. But unfortunately, being a wunderkind isn't quite as wonderful now that's he's pushing thirty. He'd started cooking school at fourteen, right after finishing high school. It was supposed to be a break before starting college, but he fell in love with food, in a way he'd never experienced before.

So he'd skipped college, figuring he could go back to it later, and now here he is, single, with a roommate, captaining a sinking ship. Awesome.

Tendo banged on the door, “Oi! Four minutes!”

“Okay, okay!” Newt cussed to himself, and staggered into the bathroom.

* * *

The Gottlieb building was a fairly recent addition to the sky line, and Newton hated it. It stood out like a sore thumb against the older buildings in the neighborhood, with none of their charm or attention to detail.

The lobby was a buzz of activity, and Newt fidgeted with his tie, trying not to look too out of place. He hadn't worn his suit since culinary school, and when he'd tried it on this morning the fact he hadn't put it on since he was 16 became very apparent when the pants wouldn't even button. So, to Tendo's extreme displeasure, he's in his favorite pair of black skinny jeans and a white button down his mother bought him last time she was in town. Tendo had lent him a tie- “A skinny tie? Dude, really?”- and it felt ridiculous.

He has to keep pulling down his sleeves, hints of his full sleeve tattoos showing at his wrists.

“I'm buying you cufflinks for your birthday,” Tendo hissed out of the side of his mouth, resisting the urge to pace the lobby.

“Mr. Geiszler!” A man approached, his cane tap-tap-tapping on the marble floor of the lobby. He's wearing the most horrifying sweater vest that Newt has ever seen, and a dark brown suit that looked like something you'd find in a thrift store. At the back of a thrift store. His pants are too short, revealing terrible argyle socks and his hair is just- Newt has no words, and before he could speak, Tendo elbowed him hard. “A pleasure, truly.”

“Uhm, ditto,” Newt pushed his glasses back up his nose, and extended a hand.

The other man grasped it firmly, and Newt had to admire the handshake, “Hermann Gottlieb. Come, we'll speak in my office.”

* * *

“That could have gone better,” Tendo hissed in the cab, bumping Newt's shoulder with his own, “I mean, it could have gone worse- did you see frogboy's face?- but it could have gone worse.”

“Frog boy?” Newt frowned, looking up from his phone. Euchlid had updated his baking blog, and the beautiful pictures of the cake were making his mouth water.

“Hermann. You know, the one you agreed could stay at the restaurant to 'evaluate' things.”

“We need the money-”

“I know that, but they would have gone for it, even if you hadn't-”

“It won't be that bad.” He said, firmly, and hoped he wasn't wrong.

* * *

  _Comment posted by KaijuGroupie today, at 3:33AM_

Dude, that cake is perfection. I love the balance you used between the acids and the sweetness, and I bet the honey adds a nice flavor. I'm going to try and make it this week- Do you use local honey or that super market shit?

 

_Reply posted by Euchlid today, at 6:57AM_

Thank you as always, KG. I feel the lemon truly does add something. Local honey, of course, the local farmer's market is one of my favorite ways to spend a Sunday morning.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, all errors are my own- so please let me know if you spot any, it's appreciated! Thanks for reading.


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